


all the gin joints in all the universes

by leiascully



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Futurama
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-05
Updated: 2010-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-08 17:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There wasn't a universe in which Kara Thrace wasn't a winner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all the gin joints in all the universes

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: AU, post-S1  
> A/N: For [**sabinelagrande**](http://sabinelagrande.livejournal.com/)'s [**intoabar**](http://community.livejournal.com/intoabar/) Ficathon.  
> Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. _Futurama_ and all related characters belong to Matt Groening, David X. Cohen, The Curiosity Company, and Fox Network. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

Kara Thrace had had a very bad day.

First she'd gotten separated from her squadron, distracted by tracking down a banged-up Raider and ending its misery in a spatter of rubble. After that, her Viper had gotten caught in some kind of gravity well, even though there hadn't been a frakking thing in sight. After that, everything had gotten a lot...well, flatter was about the only way she could describe it. Colors seemed brighter. There was a lot less nuance, and that was a word that Kara Thrace did not like to use. Sure, she kept it in her arsenal, but she didn't like to pull it out. Her gun talked louder and more people understood it anyway.

At least there was a world looming large through her 'screen and a friendly voice hailing her, guiding her in for a landing. She was in bad need of fuel. She put her bird neatly down in what looked like a parking spot in a whole row of other ships, some of which were like nothing she'd ever seen. No Raiders, at least, but no Vipers or Raptors either. The place looked like a used car lot for spaceships - junkiest spaceport she'd ever seen. She hauled herself out of the Viper and climbed down the ladder that had appeared. It had a face. Oh, gods, it was a robot, and it was staring right at her. There was a uniform painted on the part that wasn't stairs, blue with big yellow letters that said NEW NEW YORK AIR AND SPACEPORT HOW MAY I HELP YOU, and a big blinking light to go with its big creepy blinking eyes.

"Welcome to New New York!" droned the ladder, the blinking light going off as it disengaged from her Viper. Kara automatically moved her hand to her gun, but the robot didn't seem to have any homicidal tendencies or weaponry to speak of. "I am Infobot 5000, ready to serve your every informational need. Is this your first time in the city?"

"Pretty frakkin' sure it is," Kara said warily. Nope, definitely didn't look armed. The robot's face might be metal, but it had the expression Boomer had had her first day: cheerful shock and awe. It was like a big metal puppy with steps.

"Welcome!" said the Infobot. "How can I help you? Do you need information about your destination? Can I make a hotel reservation for you?" It seemed disgustingly happy about helping her.

"How about you show me to the nearest bar?" Kara snapped.

"Terminal A3, gate 72," the robot said promptly. "Please take your parking ticket." A piece of paper emerged from a slot under the eyes. Kara took it with distaste and the robot powered down.

"Too frakkin' weird," she said to nobody in particular, and sauntered off to find the bar. Wherever the hell she was, at least there was booze. All she had to do was follow her nose. Through a huge picture window, she caught a glimpse of the city - place was at least twice as big as Caprica City in its heyday, before the apocalypse, probably bigger. Gods, how long had it been since she'd seen this many people? Well, whatever. More people meant a better selection at the bar, unless they went all Gemenese on her and only had booze-free beverages. They had some crazy-ass system of tubes, people zooming along through them like missiles launching. At least she only had to walk. She could see the neon sign blinking "Bar" now, and relaxed a little. No place that looked that seedy was only serving milk.

She bellied up to the counter. "A double of the strongest thing you've got."   
"That would be...me," said a voice, trying to be sultry and failing like a nugget pulling his first loop.

Kara looked over. The source of the voice was a kind of tubby blond guy in what looked like a minidress, the kind of thing even a Cylon wouldn't wear. It was bright red and all velvety, and underneath it he was wearing a whole lot of nothing, and then some really ugly white boots. "Oh, you have _got_ to be frakking kidding me," she said under her breath, and then, louder, "I'm dying for some booze here."

The robot bartender rolled its eyes, wheeled over, and pulled a full glass out of a compartment in its belly. "Thanks," Kara said shortly. "Open a tab." Not that she had a way of paying it - the couple of cubits in her pocket probably wouldn't go far, if they went at all. On the other hand, that didn't usually matter. She'd never been in a bar where she couldn't find some sucker to hustle. It was a talent. This time the sucker had found her, and was checking her out in the least obvious way she'd ever seen.

"I find the most erotic part of the woman is the boobies," the jackass oozed, sliding closer to her. "What's your name, beautiful?"

"None of your business," she said.

"Oooh, a spicy one." His grin was greasy. "I like that."

"That and the boobies, right?" she asked, sizing him up.

He almost drooled. "Oh, yeah, they're great. Magnificent, even." He stared at her tits like he was trying to read them.

Kara clenched her fist and then relaxed it. At least she could leave this loser with the bill. "What do you say, stranger? Buy a tourist a drink?"

"Only a stranger as sensual and experienced-looking as you, gorgeous." He put his finger on his lip in what she figured he thought was a flirtatious way, which, maybe, if he was actually a sixteen year old girl.

"I'm Starbuck," she said, holding out her hand. "Well, that's my call sign. My name is Kara."

"Kara," he purred, taking her hand and kissing it instead of shaking it. She resisted the urge to slap him. "Kara mia. I like the sound of that. I'm Zapp Brannigan." He said it like she was supposed to have heard of him.

"Oh yeah?" she asked, faking interest. "_The_ Zapp Brannigan?"

"Baby, the universe only has room for one!" He puffed out his chest, which was really and truly horrifying - his dress or whatever was short already and his attempt to inflate himself like some kind of pigeon only hiked it up. Kara resisted the urge to look down. There were some sights human eyes shouldn't see. Or Cylon eyes, probably. The robot bartender seemed to be dealing, but it probably saw this a lot.

"I mean, there's only one ship called the Nimbus with the commander of DOOP Allied Forces at her sensual helm," he went on. "Incidentally, can you tell me which part is the helm? I've never been quite certain."

"The bottom level," she lied.

"Uh huh, uh huh," Zapp nodded. "I see. Yes, that seems logical. The bottom is the most sensual part of the ship, after all."

"Of course it is," Kara said, half to herself. It took most of her restraint to only down half the glass of whatever it was. Not as good as ambrosia, but better than Chief Tyrol's deckhand swill. She gritted her teeth against the burn and set her glass down. "So what do you do for fun around here?"

Zapp waggled his eyebrows at her. "Anything you can do, I can do better. And faster."

"I'll bet," Kara said. "Do you play cards, Commander Brannigan?"

"Please, call me Zapp," he said, still in the least smooth voice she'd ever heard. "What, the whole city of New New York and you want to play Go Fish?"

"I've just got a layover, so there's no time to see the city, but if you've got a deck of cards handy..." she let her voice trail off.

"Barkeep!" Zapp said, pounding on the bar. "Another round and a deck of your finest cards. I also know Old Maid and Fifty-Two Card Pickup."

"Right," Kara said. "Why don't I teach you a game?" The cards were different, rectangular with odd symbols on them, but Triad was easy enough to teach, even to Zapp, who, after she had explained the rules three or four times, brightened up like there was a lightbulb over his head.

"Oh, poker! I hardly know 'er!" he said, and chuckled to himself.

"Whatever you say," she said. "Are you in?" She winked at him.

"In like Flynn," Zapp said with satisfaction.

"Oh, _good_," Kara said. She reached slowly into her thigh pocket and dropped her last two cubits on the table, letting them jingle. "Why don't we spice this up a little?"

He rubbed his hands over his chest and Kara tried not to laugh. "I seem to have forgotten my wallet, but I trust this is an acceptable wager?" He peeled off one glove, daintier than Gaius Baltar, and dropped it on top of her money.

"'m always up for a poker game," said a voice beside her, and someone who was clearly one of the bar's regulars dragged out a seat and put a few coins on top of Zapp's glove.

"The more the merrier," Zapp rallied. Kara shrugged, shuffled, and flipped the cards out to the players.

"Deal me in," said something that had more tentacles than sense, and more eyes than she'd seen in her nightmares, but Kara tossed a couple of cards its way the next hand. When in New New York, play with whatever suckers you can find, she thought to herself. Twenty eyes or bright green or floating munchkin, everybody scammed the same. They were drawing a crowd. She grinned to herself and laid down a neat run, picking up her drink at the same time.

"What do you call this?" she drawled.

"A straight," grunted the thing with tentacles, and ate its glass in protest.

After an hour, she had enough money in front of her, in various denominations, to buy herself a good meal - hell, half the menu, probably - and fuel her bird so she could get back to Galactica. Zapp was down to his boots and a thong. The tentacled thing had added what looked like a vital organ to the pot, and the four or five others who'd joined had topped it up with bills and coins. Kara discarded a three, looked down at her cards, and couldn't help a grin spreading across her face.

"What did you say this was, a royal flush?" she asked, feigning innocence.

Zapp groaned and reached down, but Kara stalled him. "Well, all, it's been great, but it's time for me to get back to my life." She stuffed her pockets full of cash and tossed the purple thing back to the tentacle monster. With this kind of dosh, she could buy a dress that would have the whole fleet's eyes rolling on the floor, and a new holster, and a crate of whatever she'd been drinking. There was a cigar in the heap and she pulled it out and got a light from the bartending robot, which had rolled out to observe and polish glasses, in the tradition of bartenders everywhere.

"Kara, wait!" Zapp said. "Don't you want your forfeit?" He waggled his eyebrows at her, which somehow caused his gut to jiggle.

"Abso-frakking-lutely not," Kara said. "Crushing nausea's the last thing I need."

Zapp looked vaguely puzzled. Kara grinned, made gun fingers at him, and pretended to shoot him.

"Kif!" he shouted, whatever the frak that was. He dove under the table and huddled there, shivering. Even the tentacle monster rolled its six eyes and grunted in disgust.

Kara leaned down. "By the way, jackass - the helm is the front of the ship. Command deck. I wouldn't wager on your boat lasting long."

She whistled as she strolled away. No, there wasn't a universe in which Kara Thrace wasn't a winner. Things were looking up.


End file.
